Be still.

Here in my apartment my roommates and I have created a semi-efficient responsibilities rotation. Every week we are assigned new roles to fulfill for the days to follow. These rolls include the usual housekeeping duties: sweeping (or "brooming" as Tracy would call it), vacuuming, bathroom cleaning, kitchen cleaning, garbage removal ect... Outside of these rotational "chores", we also have rotational responsibilities that do not have to do with the general cleanliness of our residence. This final rotation has to do with the spiritual and communal life of our home. 

This rotational responsibility includes a weekly devotion (Tuesday morning) and a weekly meal (usually Thursday morning or Friday night). During this time one of us will present some lesson of encouragement or challenge for the week in a devotional and then will cook a meal to be shared by all where we have the opportunity to be intentional with the relationships we share with each other. 

This week is my week.

My week to lead the devotional.

My week to cook the meal. 

(and my week to clean the bathroom...)

While preparing for my devotional I was struggling. Usually, this is a piece of cake for me. I have grown up in the church, going to numerous summer camps and Sunday schools... devotionals are nothing new to me. But, for some reason, I could not think of a topic for discussion.

I was attempting to share a lesson with my roommates about God, that was not inspired by God.

Well, that doesn't work, let me tell you.

As I recognized the absurdity of my attempt, I laughed a little, put down my notebook and closed my eyes.

I then said to myself, "Speak Lord, your servant is listening." 

Beautifully, He spoke.

"Be still."

Okay... I can be still, but I really need to plan this devotional.... it is supposed to start in 20 minutes. 

"Be still."

I opened my Bible to Psalm 46.

In this Psalm, the psalmist writes "Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the Earth."

BINGO

There's my devotion! I can read Psalm 46, talk about the need to be still and take the time to recognize God around us in this busy time. 

Done. 

So, my roommates gathered around and I began to share. 

Immediately, the words I was saying were surprising me. It is a funny thing, when you lose control of your words. This has only happened to me a few times, each time revealing to me something incredible. 

This time was different though. I was not speaking out against some injustice, or sharing the gospel with a friend... I was being vulnerable and sharing about myself.

Those of you that know me know that this is rare and those of you that truly know me know that this is almost unheard of!

Sharing about myself is extremely difficult for me.

But I digress. 

As I was sharing about the need to be still I found myself flipping through my Bible and stopping in John, chapter 11. This is the story of Lazarus. 

You see, the event of raising Lazarus from the dead is always the part of the passage preached in Sunday school, but the events leading up to that instance are often overlooked because they lack the 'wow factor'. 

These events are what make the story difficult and some what frustrating.

Jesus was out and about, doing Jesus things, when Mary and Martha rushed to him. They urged Jesus to come with them to help their friend Lazarus, the one he loved,  who was terribly ill. Jesus heard their cries for help and assured them that all is for God's glory. Then, he stayed where he was for two days. He did not rush to the aid of his friend. He let Lazarus die. 

It makes me wonder, what were Mary and Martha thinking for those two days that Jesus let them suffer? Surely they were not jumping for joy, though Jesus did tell them that this was for God's glory.

I look through my life and recognize so many times that everything just sucked. I can easily point out instances where I felt completely abandoned by God and could not see how any good could come from what I was going through. 

Here's the thing though, after those two days, Jesus showed up and he raised Lazarus from the dead. 

Correct me if I'm wrong, but Lazarus couldn't have been raised from the dead if he was still alive. 

That amazing witness to God's glory, power and love could not have been demonstrated without the momentary pain and discomfort of well, death. 

"Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the Earth."

I then played for them a song that is well known and often one of those "play really loud, throw your hands in the air and sing with no reservation songs"

The lyrics are beautiful, but I often wonder if the people who so wholeheartedly sing them are truly understanding what they are professing. 

The song is "Blessed be Your Name" by Matt Redman.

It opens proclaiming all of the joys that happen in life and how we are to praise God for them.

The second verse proclaims all of the pains that happen in life... we are to praise God for them.

And it continues on in this fashion until it concludes with this beautifully difficult statement:

"You give and take away, You give and take away. My heart will choose to say Lord, blessed be your name."

This song is an ultimate expression of surrender to God's will and plan.

The moment that we can "Be still and know that God is God", when we can release control on our lives and truly abandon our personal desire we are freed to bless God's name no matter what this world throws at us.

Well, Amen.

Amen!

I was vulnerable with my roommates when sharing this. I let God speak through me and it was really difficult. I was speaking these words and wrestling with them at the same time.

This total surrender stuff, it's super hard.

This acceptance of God's reality rather than your own.... yeah, that takes work.

But I'm willing to work at it because I know that God's plans, well... they are way more amazing than anything my little brain could ever conjure up.

Be still.

Breathe.

Know.

Know that He is God.

Blessed be His name. 

 

22 or 92?

In tribute to the early on set elderliness that the lovely women of my apartment (including me) are experiencing , I present to you this song....

92.

It feels like a perfect night to put on my wool socks

And make fun of those youngsters, uh uh, uh uh.

It feel like a perfect night forget something important

To knit a thick scarf uh uh, uh uh.

Yeah,

We’re tired, cold, confused and cozy

at the same time

It’s terrible and comfortable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night we forget

to turn the oven off

It’s time.

Uh oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 92

Everything will be alright

If my camomile tea will brew

You don’t know about me

But I’ll bet you couldn't care less

Everything will be alright

If we just keep puzzling like we’re

92, ooh-ooh

92, ooh-ooh

It seems like one of those nights,

This place needs to be quiet.

Too many loud kids uh uh, uh uh (turn off that darn noise!)

It seems like one of those nights,

We kick everyone out and end up knitting

Instead of partying.

Yeah,

We’re tired, cold, confused and cozy

in the best way

It’s terrible and comfortable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night that we forget

about the burnt stew

It’s time

Uh oh! (hey!)

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 92

Everything will be alright

If my camomile tea will brew

You don’t know about me

But I’ll bet you couldn't care less

Everything will be alright

If we just keep puzzling like we’re

92, ooh-ooh

92, ooh-ooh

I don’t know about you

92, ooh-ooh

92, ooh-ooh

It feels like one of those nights,

we eat our oatmeal.

It feels like one of those nights,

we wear ugly sweaters.

It feels like one of those nights,

You look so sickly.

I gotta sleep now.

I gotta sleep now.

Ooh-ooh

Ohh-ohh, ye-e-e-e-eah, hey

I don’t know about (I don’t know about you)

But I’m feeling 92

Everything will be alright

If my chamomile tea will brew.

You don’t know about me (you don’t know about me)

But I’ll bet you couldn't care less

Everything will be all right

If we just keep puzzling like we’re

92, ooh-ooh

92, ooh-ooh

92, ooh-ooh, yeah yeah

92, ooh-ooh, yeah, yeah, yeah

It feels like one of those nights,

we eat our oatmeal

It feels like one of those nights

we wear our sweaters

It feels like one of those nights

you look so sickly

I gotta sleep now,

I gotta sleep now.

Tracy, Diem and Jenai... You guys rock. Thanks for being old with me.

things learned this summer of 2013

(in no particular order)

1. God is good

2. What a truly Christ-centered community looks like

3. There really are people out there like me

4. Tick tacks double as fantastic homesick pills

5. Slip n Slides become wayyy more fun when you cover the kids in soap instead of the tarp

6. Age is so relative.

7. Kids are way smarter and wiser than we give them credit for.

8. Mice have a ton of babies.

9. Kids have no conception of age. You're either really little or super old.

10. I will never (sans college) live without a dog.

11. I really do have fantastic friends.

12. I've got joy down in my heart, deep deep down in my heart.

13. There is a street light in the Harbor from the old Narrows Bridge.

14. Oranges can only hit the ceiling so many times...

15. Chaco tan lines are only cool in certain circles.

16. I am a bottom-rimless glasses kind of gal.

17. The narrows bridge is excessively windy.

18. Minor league baseball fans really are a thing.

19. It is NEVER a good idea to push a stranger, especially if they don't speak English, off of a cliff.

20. Gram Crackers with peanut butter and bananas... yum!

21. I do not own enough fleece.

22. Silhouettes are fun.

23. Olympia has nice sunsets (but not as nice as Gig Harbor).

24. It takes a while to move from the literal to the abstract.

25. The more I pour out myself to others the more Christ will pour into me.

26. I cannot save people. I can plant a seed, but the rest is God's jurisdiction.

27. My good friends stick around.

28. Never step on a sewer manhole cover.

29. I might be the last person ever who uses roller blades as their preferred mode of transportation. 

30. 2 Corinthians 3:17-18

year one in review

I sit here, in my living room, seldom. Not because there in anything particularly wrong with this room, rather that the carpets in the other rooms are more suitable cushions for my floor-preferring body to recline upon. The carpet in this room is quite nice to look at. It is a jute-woven melody of browns intertwined with a hint of red and bordered by some type of tasteful leather. It perfectly compliments the antique furniture inherited from my mother's grandparents and gracefully covers the less than ideal carpet that was laid here by the not-so-artistically-minded builder. 

There are usually two settings on a vacuum; one designated to the hard floor and another to the carpeted areas. This terribly uncomfortable rug always gives me trouble when having to chose which setting to apply in order to achieve maximum cleanliness. Yes, this rug is a form of carpet... but it is an extremely tough carpet. Soft, fluffy and warm are not words I would attribute to this rug. But, it is a rug. It is not composed of wood, tile or linoleum which is definitely "hard" flooring. I digress.

I sit here, in my living room, remembering. I look at the dog on my left that is called "puppy" but probably weighs more than my sister and I remember the summer just ten months ago. My beloved dog Basie had just died and it ripped me apart. I lost my cuddle buddy and best friend all at once. I was not the only one to suffer this great loss though, my other dog Satchmo, a german shepherd lab mix, had lost his cuddle buddy and best friend as well. He did not handle it in as dignified a manner as I. He resorted to constant wailing, chewing of household objects and forgetting all of the civilized training he had been taught. He needed a friend. So, "puppy" Quincy became the newest Stelle. She is a great dane-lab mix and has more than nonupled her size since we adopted her in August. She knows no boundaries when it comes to personal space.

My right side is occupied by our other dog Satchmo. He, unlike Quincy, understands the concept of a "personal bubble" and is respectful of it. I appreciate his thoughtfulness. 

The next time I saw this "puppy"was three months later when I was fortunate enough to come home for Thanksgiving break. I had just finished my first three months as a college student and was completely in love with the life of the city folk. The amount of opportunities at my finger tips were endless and I was struggling to decide which ones to invest my time in. I had decided not to play on the North Park fastpitch team and therefore had the time that I never had in high school to do whatever the hell I wanted. 

What to chose, what to chose. 

I spent a great deal of time church hopping. I knew that finding a church to call home was of utmost importance if I wanted my faith to grow and be challenged in new and exciting ways. I tried a number of churches all of different ethnicity, denomination, and size. Much to my surprise  I landed at a fairly small church called North Park Covenant Church. This church is not directly affiliated with North Park University, it is just in the same neighborhood of North Park, hence the name. 

Upon coming to such a diverse city, I was greatly anticipating going to some crazy-ethnic church where call and response is the norm, multiple languages are spoken and white is the minority. NPCC is not that church. From the outside, you would see a very traditional, white church. It is beautiful in its architecture and awe inspiring with its stain class and tile work. The service is liturgical and the pastors wear albs. 

Though its traditional and very european style of worship is quite different than the other areas of my life, I love it. They embrace me and have adopted me into their community. I have become involved with the children's ministry, been 'adopted' by an older couple as their honorary college child and become a regular attender of their 8:30am service. This service has about 15-20 attendees each Sunday. We meet in a small side chapel of the church and have a very intimate gathering. Their is one man on the piano that leads us in our hymns, the pastor talks in a friendly manor without a microphone and the prayers of the church consist of the personal prayer requests of the people in attendance. It feels similar to what I would assume a home church feels like. 

The next time I was to see Quincy and Satchmo was for my much needed Christmas break. This break lasted a month and consisted of the reuniting old high school friendships, sleeping-- a lot, and spending quality time with my family of four as well as my extended family. By this time, I was officially half way done with my freshman year. I did well in all of my classes, made some great friends and began profound relationships with a few professors. 

As the second semester began I was taking extraordinary classes, deepening the relationship with the two young girls I faithfully tutor every week, still attending my fantastic yet bizarre small group, and becoming increasingly involved with clubs on campus. My two favorite classes were without a doubt my courses titled Paul and Africana Studies. Paul was taught by my favorite professor Dr. Joel Willitts and was a detailed study on the life of the Apostle Paul, his writings and the culture of the Greco-Roman world. My Africana Studies class examined the history, sociology, art, politics and religion of Black culture. Paul reshaped my biblical perspectives and opinions where Africana reshaped my social and political perspectives. 

The spring semester culminated in my team and I winning a debate where our argument was that "Paul would have supported monogamous homosexual relationships and would have supported gay marriage." For the first time in my life I was able to research enough on a subject to be able to form my own opinion rather than just regurgitating the opinion of a scholar or some other more read person than I. I was able to stand in front of a group of people and argue my perspective as well as what I believe Paul's perspective would have been with confidence and quite a bit of evidence to back myself up. 

I really do love North Park. The professors take such a personal interest in you, it's really incredible. I had professors poor so much knowledge into my life both academically and spiritually this year. I had the opportunity to go out to coffee with each of my profs. While drinking our over-priced beverages we would talk for hours about the subject of the particular class I am taking by them, their personal passions and drives in their field, and my hopes and dreams that have been awakened as I become a more informed being. At the end of the year I so highly respect my professors as academics but also as friends. I really do love North Park because their faculty really does love me. 

This rug on the other hand, does not. When I return to North Park in the fall I will be living in an apartment with three of my friends. I will be rooming with the infamous Tracy Moua and therefore will inevitably be in a constant war of dog vs. cat. I foresee a duct tape line down the center of our room with countless cat pictures on her side and pictures of Quincy and Satchmo on mine. Other than that small difference in taste, and her constant explanation of our other differences being "Kayla, that's just a white person thing", we really do get along. I am very much so looking forward to the next semester. For I will only live with them for a few months, the spring semester I will not be at North Park, I will be in Africa. 

My mother jokingly said that if we drive to Chicago in the fall, I can have this rug. My apartment is completely hard wood floor... if I leave this rug in the living room here there will be no confusion as to what setting the vacuum will need to be on when I clean. I won't have to vacuum the apartment as often as my house needs to be vacuumed though, for in Chicago I do not have my dogs. Satchmo who does respect my space and Quincy who has slowly, but surely, managed to inch herself onto me until her entire grey and white splotchy body is completely on top of mine, will stay in the harbor where they belong.

Year one is over and it was fun. 

How about a Haiku:

Lots of new big words

Friends who love cats way too much

Impecunious 

Photo credit to Madison Stelle

euaggelion

a walk

every day we walk

and we talk

Him first, then i

He was such a great listener

quick to encourage

and quicker to take my hand

it was me

i ruined it

it was my fault

i didn't mean to break His heart

but i did

i hurt Him

oh, how i hurt Him

now i walk

alone

in darkness

it's hard, walking in the dark

i fall down a lot

i can't see

i can't sense

but i walk

away

i'm so ashamed

my head hangs heavy

i would try to lift it

but to what?

an empty sky?

an eternity of shadows? 

i don't even know what direction i'm headed

it is impossible to tell

north from south

east from west

where is my garden?

our garden?

i stumble

as i lay mangled on the ground, i hear something

scratch, scratch, scratch

a match on a matchbox

scratch, scratch, scratch

silence

i am afraid to look up

afraid to see if it lit

courage

courage

i slowly rise

there is a flicker

it's distant, but there

is it fading?

no, moving

i look around

darkness

curious, i walk

two lights

three 

twelve

they walk, i follow

i hide my face

looking down, i notice their feet and knees

all are bruised and torn

they look just like mine

they also walked in darkness

they fell

one

one though

His knees were not bruised

they were not torn

His light was the brightest

His light was perfect

they move

their numbers grow

more see the light

more need the light

i need the light

courage

courage

i approach, head hanging

warmth

oh, how i missed warmth

i feel it on my face

beckoning me to raise my eyes

slowly

i do

light

He was handing me a light

it was Him

there was no anger in his face

just warmth

as if the light i thought was a match, was no match at all

forgiveness radiated

warmth

it was Him

He was the light

i have a light now

i see

i see so many without the light

darkness

anger

bitterness

they don't have the light, so they want to destroy it 

stomp

stomp

stomp

they take Him

i reach for His hand

i reach for His touch

He looks at me, He smiles, He nods

they dampen his light

one by one, the lights go out

i walk

my sole light flickering

i fall

darkness

we are all in darkness

Hope was dampened

it was me

i ruined it

i hurt Him

He's gone

i have separated us forever

no amount of forgiveness can fix my mistake

shaking 

the ground is shaking

i try to stand but can only make it to my knees

a rightful place

before me shines the Light

they could not keep Him

He handed me a light

and looked at me

his eyes said 

"child, there is nothing you can do... nothing that will make me love you less."

He lips said 

"walk"

i got up

and we walked

He talked, i listened

for a moment, it felt like we were back in the garden

He gave me a box of matches

"take My light to the world"

"we will walk again"

gone

He's gone

but He did not leave me alone

i look up

i smile, i nod

now,

i can start a fire

so i walk. 

a splotchy two weeks

When a baby panda is born, it takes approximately two weeks for black splotches to appear on his skin and in his fur.

It would take me, according to google maps, two weeks of continuous walking to get half way from Chicago to my home in Gig Harbor.

Two weeks is the allotted amount of time one should give their boss to replace them after quitting. 

It is also, apparently, the amount of time it takes Hugh Grant to realize that he is in love with Sandra Bullock.  

Two weeks from now I will be curled up in a blanket on the family room floor with my puppy on my right, my other dog on my left and the sweet sound of classical jazz dancing through the speakers.

Shortly after this much needed relaxation I will be met by a competitive card game with the family, serious smack-talking insults, spontaneous laughter and if I'm lucky, I might even get some Jackson 5 karaoke.  

I'll be home.

But, I cannot dwell on this thought.

In these two next weeks I need to:

write a history of early christian art paper

write a critical response to a narrative on greco roman lifestyles

take a statistics exam

formulate a debate regarding the apostle Paul's views on homosexuality

take another statistics exam

deep clean my room

take an african studies exam

meet with my study abroad coordinator 

organize all of my books, files, and papers

take an art history exam

meet with my small group

pack the things I am bringing home into duffle bags 

actually debate Paul's views

tutor my darling elementary students who do not speak English

pack my things in boxes that I am leaving in Chicago

do laundry... so much laundry

plan the end of the year event for the club I am presidenting

AND

remember to breathe, laugh, eat, shower, work out, smile, relax and not go completely insane. 

As I read over my list of "necessities" before I go home, I notice my lack of planned God time.

As these next few weeks fly by I need to be conscious of human self-centeredness and focus on the things that are truly important.

Yes, school is important.

Packing is important.

Community service is important. 

But God is the utmost important. 

Matthew 6:25-34

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life... Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? ... See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all of his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothes you- you of little faith? So do not worry... But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Though the urge to stress is present, I will not succumb to it.

Faith has the power to move mountains.

My mountains are many, but in two weeks I will be able to look back and say "Hallelujah!" because freshman year will be finished and I will still be alive.

So let's go

this baby panda is gettin' spotchy

these feet are reaching Mizpah Road, Montana

George Wade is assuring Lucy Kelson that he did not and will not destroy the community center

and I am going home. 

Glory a Dios!

i hear the smell of that color

I love to listen.

I listen to the rain patter against my window.

I listen to the wind whistle gracefully down my alleyway. 

I listen to the gentle wisp a book makes when its page is turned.

I listen to my friends speak in their various accents and dialects. 

I listen to most things.

I love to listen.

Listening is great because though it can be very descriptive, it leaves plenty of room for imagination.

By listening to someone walk, you can tell a few things easily:

1. Their approximate size and stature; a small, gentle individual will make a very different sound than a large, awkward individual.

2. Their shoe preference; a sharp clicking sound will indicate a high heal, a flip and then a flop will indicate a flip-flop (clever, I know), a squeak will indicate some sort of athletic shoe, a clap then thud will indicate a loafer of some kind, etc... 

3. Their speed; obviously a rapid repetition of thumps will be an attribute of someone walking briskly while a slow and steady tap will be an attribute of someone sauntering. 

By these three quick assessments, you can imagine a profile of the person you are listening to.

Their size gives you an idea of their physical appearance, their shoe type gives you an idea of their basic lifestyle, personality, and destination and their speed gives you an idea of their relaxation level (or lack there of).

All of this is to say; I love to listen.

I think this love of listening was born the day that I was introduced to Old Time Radio.

Burns and Allen,

My Favorite Husband,

Fibber McGee and Molly,

Barrie Craig,

and

Gunsmoke

are just a few of these fantastic radio programs.

When I was younger, I would fall asleep listening to these stories and imagining the character's faces.

I would dream-up what their houses looked like, how their neighborhoods smelled, what types of cars their friends drove...

I would wonder at the possibilities!

I would listen to the same tape over and over again, maybe twelve nights in a row, each time envisioning it in a different way.

I love to listen.

I love to listen to the adds that are so unashamedly plugged.

I love to listen to the music that is played in transitions.

I love to listen to the clever sound effects.

Today, too much time is spent on the visual details. 

Films are coming out with more and more frames per second.

Computer generation is sculpting for us what imagination used to do all on its own.

What has happened to the listening?

It's a fading culture. 

It's my culture.

I love to listen.

I close my eyes and imagine. 

I imagine the impossible.

I imagine the possible.

I imagine beauty that cannot be made by computer technology.

Just by my ears.

George Burns, Gracie Allen, Lucille Ball, Richard Denning, Jim and Marian Jordan, William Gargan and so many more voices have inspired my mind.

I love them all.

I love them all because they cause my ears to melt into stages where imagination is the director, fantasy is the stage crew, awe inspiring impossibilities are the cast and the audience is all those who ever doubted the power of my limitless imagination.

"Say goodnight, Gracie."

"Goodnight Gracie!"

sista love

Today is National Siblings Day.

So basically, today gives me an adequate excuse to brag excessively about how great my sister is.

Not only is my sister the most beautiful young woman in the world, but she is also extremely talented.

Her aggressiveness on the basketball court (varsity as a freshman btw) regardless of her size compared to her opponent is very impressive.

Her impressions of both Snow White and the Jackson 5 (yes, all five of them) are creepily accurate.

Her ability to lead a group of people while demonstrating humility is beautiful.

Her knowledge when it comes to Peter Pan, Harry Potter, and Star Wars is freaking fantastic.

Her empathy for the hurting is grand.

Her attempts to de-vegetarianize me are persistent, annoying, but persistent.

Her dance skills while wearing fuzzy socks on the hard-wood floor in the kitchen, is inspiring.

And her shameless worship is striking.

Now,

Her "I will end you" face she frequently gives me when I throw things at her door from downstairs to get her attention (because I am too lazy to walk up the stairs and knock gently) is terrifying.

Her blaring of Taylor Swift through every speaker in the house is the epitome of misery.

And her clothes stealing is sneaky, clever and quick.... but awful. Seriously, girl, get your own clothes.

All of this being said, I have the best sister ever.

To illustrate more clearly, here are a few short stories...

When Madison and I were younger we would get banished to our rooms frequently. We were very mischievous children. This was fine when we shared a room, but when I "moved out" to the adjacent room, this banishing business became an issue. Heck, I didn't want to sit in my room alone! What fun is that? She also did not like the loneliness  (Looking back, this 'loneliness' probably only lasted about ten minutes, but then... it felt like an eternity!) So, every time we would get in trouble we would master-mind a new way to communicate through separate rooms. One attempt involved punching out our screen in the window so that we could sit and dangle our legs outside, lean out the window to chat. Needless to say, when out mom saw  us two little kids half way out of our 30ft high windows, she was not too happy. After that, we attempted a form of morse code. But we forgot the code. Boo. Our third attempt worked. When our parents were outside doing yard work one day, Madison and I grabbed the power drill from the garage, and drilled a hole in the separating wall big enough to look through. Then, we both covered the hole with a picture and waited for the next time we would get sent to our rooms. (I assure you, that did not take long...) Ah, ha! We had won. We could talk to each other while in trouble. Go team, go.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Not too long ago I had to end a relationship. It was extremely difficult for me. Having to plan ahead of time to deliberately hurt someone I cared about was excruciating. I was in prayer for months over the issue, and was in deep turmoil over the situation. When the day came, and I had to confront the problem, I felt totally alone. That night, I did it. And it sucked. I came back home and ran to my room balling. My family was downstairs but they knew, do not bother Kayla. I don't handle deep emotion very well. So, they gave me my space. When I finally wound up the courage to go down the stairs and get some water from the kitchen to re-hydrate myself from all of the crying, Madison approached me, cautiously. She grabbed my computer and inched towards me like she was walking through a mine field and diffusing a bomb at the same time. She looked at me. I glared back. She said, "trust me." Usually, that means that she is going to throw water in my face or stab me with permanent marker... but that day was different. I trusted her, and I am so thankful that I did. Suddenly, piano music was playing from my computer and I heard my sister's voice... "Iiiiiiiiii don't want a lot for Christmas" then louder "there is just one thing I need, I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree". She continued to sing as I stared. Then with all of her might she belted out "ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU!" and said "take it away Kayla!" 

And just like that, my awful night became magical.

Two tone def sisters belting out Mariah Carey.

I was crying, we both were... but not because we were sad.

My father was also crying. (they jury is still out on whether we was crying out of joy, out of hysteria, or the pain his ears were experiencing)

Now, that's love.

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Madison, I am so thankful that you are my sister. Not just because you're smokin' hot, but because you are an angel (when you're not trying to kill me).

You are my best friend.

We go together like rama lama lama ka ding a de ding de dong.

Aww (:

Happy Siblings Day!

Mark your calendar, Madison. Sisters Day is August 4th. That's a Sunday. You better bring your A-game.

the myth of certainty

Death is an interesting thing.

Some fear it.

Some embrace it as an unpleasant reality.

Some welcome it.

It is a blessing to be able to study here at North Park University in Chicago, but I am most thankful to have had the opportunity to take multiple classes by Dr. Joel Willitts.

Now, I am not making the connection of Willitts to death because of the difficulty of his courses. This being said, his courses do challenge me in serious ways... but that's besides the point. 

The connection, rather, is that of Willitts's wisdom that he shared with my class today.

He came to class with a heavy heart.

A heart burdened by the the events that took place yesterday.

He had a friend pass away after a lengthy battle with cancer.

He was vulnerable with us as he shared about this very personal experience. 

Being a biblical scholar, Willitts often blows my mind with the amount of knowledge he has on the Bible. 

Every time I think I know something, I very quickly learn that I know nothing.

This being said, Willitts always offers me perspectives and interpretations that cause me to pause, and reflect on what this whole being a Christ-follower thing is really about.

Today, in respect to death, Willitts again impressed me.

I have never been so moved in a classroom.

Never, has an instructor spoken to my heart in the way that Willitts did today.

He said (speaking on 2 Corinthians 4)
"Certainty is a myth, really. Not just in Christianity, but in life. The reality is how life would be if I couldn't live in the light of truth like this. Not just how unfulfilled  but how miserable life would be if cancer is all there was. I choose to believe, I embrace the uncertainty but the uncertainty and doubt in no way undermines my faith. For, to whom shall we go? I offer the hope of Paul, not the certainty of truth... for it is more than one can wrap their head around logically."

Wow.

How encouraging.

And beautiful.

Certainty is a myth...

To doubt is natural....

But, to choose to believe and to embrace uncertainty leads to hope.

and truth.

and life.

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Cor 4:18)

It's eternal!

It's life!

It is something that we cannot wrap our heads around logically, but it is truth.

We, as humans, want to doubt. It is in our nature to question. We don't want to accept what is unknown. It is much easier to respond with anger than to lift things to a higher power with the notion of it 'being taken care of'. 

Why rely on uncertainty, when we can so simply agree with the world?

The world makes sense, right?

Death is final, so we better YOLO it up.

When you die, you die.

hmm.

We can choose to mourn.

We can choose to doubt.

We can choose to reject the unknown.

We can choose to be "certain" and worry about earthly problems.

We can choose to be depressed, because that's the socially correct response.

Or we can believe. 

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (2 Cor 4:16)

I choose to believe. 

just a few

Sunshine on daisies and walks in the moonlight

Speaking in Spanish and climbing up great heights 

Roller blades, seesaws and giant tire swings

These are a few of my favorite things. 

Forts made of bed sheets and huts made of driftwood 

Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, Maid Marian and Robin Hood

Running so fast pretending I have wings

These are a few of my favorite things.

Fresh fruit smoothies and karaoke with my sis

Predictable romantic comedies that end with a great kiss 

Cold winter days where you dream of the spring

These are a few of my favorite things. 

When a series finale ends...

When the cafeteria is out of pineapple...

When I feel so sad...

I start to remember my favorite things,

And then I don't feel so bad!